


Artifacts

by RiethTheLost



Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiethTheLost/pseuds/RiethTheLost
Summary: Artifacts are ancient items of immense power. And as such, they are... difficult to destroy at the best of times. But even the most durable artifact has a weakness. Whether it be a magical rite or an unlikely sequence of events, all things have a way to return them to the dust from whence they came.
Kudos: 2





	1. Cicatrix

The devil crashed to the ground in Absalom's streets. Summoned by a group of wizards, he had been tasked with stopping a lich from destroying the city. Ahead of him, the lich laughed and blasted an angel, likely summoned by some cleric, out of the sky. As the angel fell, a glint of metal fell with her, and the Devil lunged for it. Taking the dagger in his hand, he flipped it around to hold its handle, growling in pain as its holy aura burned him. Without any other weapons... the dagger would have to do. Breaking into a run, the Devil screamed and launched himself at the lich, who turned in surprise, unable to react before a mass of scales and anger knocked him backwards. 

"DARE YOU CHALLENGE TAR BAPHON, THE WHISPERING TYRANT!?" The lich howled, aiming a finger at the devil and firing a green beam of destructive light. Barely moving away in time, the Devil heard the sound of collapsing stone as the wall behind him turned to a fine powder in the wake of the beam. He rushed again, stabbing at the lich's stomach, then up as Tar Baphon defended himself. As powerful as the lich was, he was at a disadvantage in a physical confrontation. But soon the lich grew tired of the Devil's antics and cast a spell. "ENOUGH. YOU HAVE KEPT ME WAITING LONG ENOUGH." with a single word, the Devil was imprisoned in a cage of force, which the lich left behind as he started to stride past, towards the cathedral at the city's heart.

Snarling, the devil cast his own beam of green light, disintegrating the cage around him. Glancing down, the devil noticed the angel trying to get to her feet. Even if they should be enemies, for now... there was a bigger problem. Reaching down, he pulled the angel to her feet and looked for the dagger. Where it had fallen lie only a pool of silvery metal, the last remnants of the artifact's power spent.

_Cicatrix is destroyed if an evil outsider of CR 20 or higher uses the blade to sacrifice itself to save a good outsider’s life._


	2. Enemy of All Enemies

As the paladin picked up the blade, its voice rang in his mind. "Master, you have returned!" He felt its power attempt to overtake him, and he shook his head dismissively. 

"I am not he." The paladin stated simply, sheathing the blade and slinging it over his back. "But I can take you to him."

The next day, the blade spoke again. "Master, you must return to your senses, your enemies are everywhere! The tribe lies scattered!" The paladin felt its magic pulling at him, trying to convince him he was the master the blade sought. The man who had wielded the blade last had met the warlord's description to the letter, but was not he. 

Again, the paladin spoke. "I am not he. But I can take you to him." 

The exchange became something of a daily contest between the paladin and the blade, their minds clashing again and again as the blade attempted to assert its will. This process lasted weeks, as the paladin's journey continued. Each day he fought off the blade's mental attack, each day it tried anew to convince him he was its long lost master. But he would not be swayed. He marched on, through villages, abandoned wastelands, caves and hills. Through a fortress once occupied by cyclopes, now left to ruin and the devastation of time. Finally, he came upon a lonely grave on a high cliff overlooking the ruins of an even more ancient city. As he looked down on the city, the blade spoke one last time.   
"Master... we are home."

The paladin nodded silently to himself, turning to the grave. "Yes, blade. Yes you are." He drew the blade from its sheathe, taking it in both hands and turning to the grave. "Blade, do you know whose grave this is?"

"No, master." The blade's voice sounded unsure. For the first time, it wasn't angry, or desperate, or even pleading. The blade sounded sad. "Whose grave do we now stand on?"

The paladin raised the sword, and swung it in an arc once, twice. Then, he turned its blade to the ground, and thrust it into the ground. "You and your master's, blade."

As the blade sunk into the earth, a deep crack crawled up the blade's side, and as the paladin stepped away, the blade shattered. It spoke one final time to him, its voice now sounding almost wistful. "I only wanted to believe he still lived..."

_Enemy of All Enemies is a Cursed Greatsword. to be destroyed, it must be brought to the gravesite of its original wielder, and strike the grave thrice._


End file.
